Tequila, Salt, Lime, Merino: Recipe for Nonsense
by Feisty Y. Beden
Summary: It's Twirlgrrl's birthday. This story makes no sense. No, really. But you will find mention of tequila, salt, lime, and merino. E x Twirl


**A/N: This is a birthday drabble for Twirlgrrl. She gave me some prompts. None of this makes sense. Please disregard. **

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Tequila, Salt, Lime, Merino: Recipe for a Nonsensical Birthday Drabble**

**Prologue:**

It was dark in here, and hot. Hotter than my ballsack in August under the midday sun. I complained that I might get heatstroke, but I was rewarded with a kick in the gut.

"You'll speak when you're spoken to, boy."

How many days had I been here?

I regretted flirting with _her_ at the bar.

~*~*~*~

It was her birthday, and she wore a plastic tiara on her head. Pink puffs of marabou undulated as she swayed to the music on the jukebox. She didn't care what it was, in particular. She was twirling. She liked to twirl.

From across the room, the man with the stormy green eyes watched her hungrily.

She paid no attention as he slithered closer and closer to her. He longed to smell her, taste the salt on her neck as she twirled and swayed. The bar was packed with people, and the air was thick with energy, desire, expectation. She was damp all over from dancing.

"Oh, excuse me," he said, brushing against her deliberately.

She curled her mouth in an enigmatic smile. "Well, hello there, sailor."

"Is it your birthday?"

"What gave it away? Maybe the big tiara I'm wearing that says 'Birthday Girl'?" She threw her head back and laughed. Oh god, what a laugh. He felt a stirring in his loins, like his trouser snake was a dousing rod and she was Lake Michigan.

"Happy birthday," he said with a crinkly-eyed smile.

"Do I look older to you?" she asked coyly.

"You are like a fine wine—you can only improve with age."

"Buy me a drink, sailor?"

"What'll the birthday girl have?"

"It's a tequila night."

"Is it? How do you know it's a tequila night?"

"The music tells me," she said as she swayed, swishing her skirts flamenco style.

He ordered two shots and asked the bartender for lime.

"Beautiful birthday girl, may I?" he asked, holding a lime wedge and glancing at her ample cleavage. Her breasts were so round and supple; where they met looked like two parentheses marks standing back to back.

"My husband might complain," she said, glancing at him through her eyelashes.

"Your husband? What does he do?"

"Well, he's a private investigator of sorts."

"Would _you_ complain, Madam?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. Try me."

He tucked the lime wedge between her perfect breasts. He leaned in, nipping at the jewel-like bits of lime fanning out from the rind, licked her neck, and downed the shot.

The birthday girl laughed.

"Why do you laugh at me?"

"That was the most ass-backward body shot I've ever seen."

"I … er … I must have missed that chapter in _Emily Post_."

"What a strange little man you are," she murmured, but she slammed down her shot and then grabbed the stranger's face, bringing it down to hers and kissing him on the mouth. They both tasted of tequila, and it was quite some time before they broke contact, gasping for air.

"Whoa," he said.

She just laughed.

"Home now, sailor."

"You … you wish me to go home with you?"

"Well, I was telling _you_ to go home, but … oh very well. Settle my tab for me?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and he felt the Peen of Damocles straining against his tight denim jeans. He could barely extract his wallet from his pocket; so distended were his pants.

They hailed a cab in front of the bar. She told the cabbie where to go, but those were the last words she spoke in the backseat, too busy weaving her fingers into his charmingly mussed hair, her mouth too occupied with things more pressing than talking.

He couldn't believe his luck as the cab stopped in front of her house. He strained again to fish his wallet out of his jeans—he could have sworn they were shrinking on him as she continued to touch him, breathing raggedly in his ear—and threw a twenty dollar bill to the cabbie.

He started walking toward the house, but she clucked her tongue. "This way, naughty boy," she said, pulling him toward the small shed by the house.

Kinky. Outdoorsy. He liked it.

She pulled open the metal door of the shed, and he stumbled inside. She'd run ahead of him, and he couldn't see a thing. "Where are you, birthday girl?"

He heard more than one pair of feet scuttling toward him, and then felt something heavy and dull hit him on the back of his head. "What…?" he began to say, but he fell to his knees, seeing all the stars in the heavens behind his eyelids.

~*~*~*~

I could hear children laughing. "A petting zoo! Really? You got us one?"

"Yes, darlings," she said. "Well, just one animal to start you out with. But we'll add others soon. Are you ready to meet him?"

"Yes! Yay! Now! Zoo!" I couldn't tell the voices apart or even figure out how many children were there. I was aware of someone pulling on the—oh god, was that a collar?—around my neck, and I shuffled forward obediently.

"Yay, Mama! A sheep! A sheep!"

"Merino," I heard the birthday girl say. I could tell her mouth was still curled in that smile. She patted my head through the constricting costume. "Soft. Warm." Her voice changed to ice as she addressed me. "Bleat for the children, sailor."

"Um," I stammered.

"Bleat for the children, or you'll go right back in the pen."

"Baa?"

"Good boy."

I felt lots of little pats all over my body, and I think one of those children pulled on my tail.

After a time, the children must have gone back into the house.

"Why?" I asked, knowing that the birthday girl was still standing by me.

"Four words for you: Ass. Backward. Body. Shot."

"All because I did the body shot wrong?"

"I take my tequila very seriously."

"Clearly."

Suddenly I felt something sting my neck. "What the devil?" I began to say, but my limbs began to feel like jelly. "I can't … stay … on … all fours …" I mumbled as I fell over.

~*~*~*~

"Wake up, you slacker!" Oh dear god. My head was aching, and every part of my body felt as if it had been tenderized.

"Emmett? Is that you?"

"Dude, who else is it going to be?"

I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I was lying on the couch of my apartment. "I had the craziest dream."

"Whatever, dude. I'm out. And would you pick up your nasty tightie whities off the floor? No one wants to see that shit."

"All right," I said, scrubbing my face with my hands.

What a nightmare. I was so grateful to be here. Thank goodness it was only a dream. I went to pick up my dirty underwear as Emmett had requested. But wait … I didn't _wear_ tightie whities. I went for the grimy pile of … something …

_Oh. Oh my. No._

I sank to my knees as I picked up the sheep costume. There was a piece of paper safety-pinned right between the eyes of the sheep's head.

All it said was:

http:// en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Body_shot

[deleted scene where you can imagine Edward beating off in the shower]

Later, there is cake.

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**Happy birthday, Twirl!**


End file.
